


Dunes aren't made by dragon wings

by gyunikum



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mentions of Death, PTR Spoilers, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth Spoilers, empty plot-holes and whatnot filled by my headcanon, i mean the oc is a death knight, mentions of muteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyunikum/pseuds/gyunikum
Summary: Anduin has promised himself not to pull another Broken Shore-stunt, but when a jihui piece appears on his desk one night, along with some interesting (and honestly disconcerting) rumors, he knows he has to repeat some not-so kingly actions. Perhaps, the drunken ramblings of a Gadgetzan engineer were not quite on par with the needs of the entire Alliance, but Anduin needs to see with his own eyes--why would Wrathion appear in Tanaris after all those years?Alternatively: Anduin asks a poor death knight to spirit him away to Tanaris.





	1. Quest: A Death Knight and a Black Dragon Enter a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, well. Look who's back. Never thought I would ever upload anything here, but _damn_ that new Wrathion model came, conquered and left with a lot of wranduin feels. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels like this. Many things in this fic is based off of Wrathion's journal entries. Fic is not ready yet, but I hope you forgive me for uploading the first chapter so soon. I just really had to.

Anduin was guilty—of placing his needs above that of his people, especially in such dark times. Maybe it was the hopelessness that choked him every night that he let his guard down, and succumbed to this betrayal of his own. He had told himself that he’d gotten over it.

Clearly, he hadn’t. Because—

It took Anduin some time to fully comprehend the news, but as soon as he did, he found himself disregarding much of the Alliance’s and Stormwind’s problems in favour of opening up an old wound in his heart, for—for what, really? But Anduin didn’t need a reason, for his initial reaction was enough an answer and explanation; he hadn’t gotten over it yet.

And so after he had deciphered Valeera’s secret message, Anduin was more than ready to catch the first adventurer who dared step into the Keep to spirit away to Tanaris together. But he couldn’t yet do that. Not until it was appropriate for him to excuse himself from the war council and grab the first (un)lucky champion who looked capable enough to escort him safely to Kalimdor’s nether regions.

He’d never been to Tanaris before, but he knew most of Kalimdor’s various sections by heart as he did of the Eastern Kingdoms, of Outland and Northrend, of Pandaria, and the many islands in-between. Some would say he was a walking map of the world, yet most of those zones, he’d never seen with his own eyes. Now as a king, his chances of ever seeing the entirety of Azeroth was next to nothing, but if he could escape the Keep to the Broken Shore in the middle of an invasion, this would be a piece of cake.

He needed to get to Gadgetzan, quickly. He’d just recently gotten the information from one of Valeera’s birds, which must also have taken some time to procure to bring to Anduin. Every hour mattered, and yet he was still stuck in the meeting that did nothing but deepen his regrets and griefs. He needed to get his mind off of these matters, even if his distraction would not bring him any much needed relief.

Anduin couldn’t trust the champions on this matter. Not with this—sensitive mission. And yet a champion was exactly what he needed. Or at least a champion-like adventurer. The brave soul who had accompanied him to the Broken Shore all that time ago was no longer with them, giving his life heroically so that the Armies of Legionfall may continue their campaign against the Burning Legion. For this, he needed someone inconspicuous but capable. Most of the champions he had regular contact with were all known faces, their every step and deed followed by an SI:7 report on his desk. He needed someone who didn’t even have a file yet.

When Anduin sneaked off to the Broken Shore, it was a child’s play, really. The portal to Dalaran was constantly maintained in the Wizard’s Sanctum, and since the beginning of the campaign on the Broken Isles, security had been loosened due to the sheer amount of traffic going through and forth. Admission had been completely automatized thanks to some gnome ingenuity, and thus Anduin needed only look the part of a ragged traveller, just one of the many trying their luck in Dalaran. At that point, any and all able-bodied adventurer was welcome to coat their weapons – and spells – in demon blood. All Anduin required was a cloak and a dagger, and through he went the portal without a hitch. Actually getting to the Broken Shore was a bit more complicated, and Anduin loathed to have had to be forced to do it—he never enjoyed it, pained beyond reason as his poor victim’s eyes became a fogged mirror of Anduin’s mind control. It was just a tiny nudge, really, to convince the gnome that lending his mount to Anduin for a short time with no questions asked was a great idea, yet the king still promised no harm would befall the adventurer’s trusty steed. In any other situation Anduin would have his own gryphon, or need only mention his destination to any Alliance-affiliated flight master, but he hadn’t wanted to risk being recognized by anyone in the crowds of Dalaran, much less in the middle of Krasus’ Landing. He didn’t even dream of using the direct portals to Deliverance Point; those were closely monitored, and could be used only by those who possessed a special permission issued by Kirin Tor officials.

Anduin had been fine with a stole—no, a borrowed gryphon. That way, at least he could measure up that place with his own eyes from a safe distance before he stepped foot on its lethal ground.

No. Getting to Tanaris was going to be a lot more difficult. No one really visited Gadgetzan anymore, and Anduin did not trust ships after the news of Nazjatar. Nor was he expected to pull another disappearance in such dire times. Maybe he should just pay a mage—would it be considered a bribe? Or should he again—

“Anduin?” rumbled Velen’s voice softly. The quiet conversation of Nazjatar’s aftermath ceased, and Anduin’s skin prickled from all the pairs of eyes currently trained at him. His mind was jerked back from the scorching sands of Tanaris to the cool council chamber of Stormwind Keep. He wasn’t sure where he would prefer to be right now.

“Yes, Velen?” Anduin asked quickly, with levelled voice. There was no reason to bother with schooling his features for Velen already knew Anduin had not been quite present with them. It was for the sake of the others who needed this reassurance which Anduin would gladly give to them.

“Are you alright, son?” asked Genn instead. His weary face was an expression of worry, and Anduin hated it. It pained him just the thought of what he was planning on putting them through. Again. Maybe he should ask Spymaster Shaw to deliver them a message, assuring them that he’d learned from the Broken Shore, and had a capable escort with him this time.

“Yes.” Yes, a message would be best, but—not through Mathias. The Spymaster was discreet when needed, never questioned Anduin’s orders, but he would catch on too quickly, and Anduin couldn’t risk it. Valeera was out of the question—he did not want to ask more of her. “As much as one can be, after such news.” For a moment, he mustered his courage. “N’zoth works faster than anyone could’ve anticipated.”

His stomach reeled at the words he’d just said, and nausea bubbled in his throat. Nothing could bring him relief from the thought, not even the Light. Perhaps, a visit to the Netherlight Temple would do his soul well, but—he hadn’t been back since _that_ day, and Anduin had little time to admit things to himself he was not ready to admit. Another time. Now, he would have to walk across this bridge on his own.

“If the past years have taught us anything,” Jaina spoke up then, for the first time since the meeting began, having let Genn do the recounting, “it is that, divided, we cannot fight and hope to win. Not without grave casualties.” A silent moment, then she inhaled deeply, as though stalling. Was she stalling her own words, perhaps? “What happened in Nazjatar was… no one could have predicted it, much less prevent it.”

Genn let out a sound that bordered on a growl and a huff. Velen sighed, closing his eyes. Anduin’s eyes met Jaina’s.

“Without… without the Horde’s help… we will _fail_ to defeat N’zoth.”

“Jaina,” Anduin said quietly. Here he was wallowing in his self-pity, about to do something colossally foolish, while Jaina had learned to let go of the past, step forward, and forge her painful memories into something that would keep her going despite all. For the greater good of Azeroth. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing—nothing to be sorry for, Anduin,” Jaina said with a reassuring smile.

“If the past years have taught us anything else,” spoke Genn this time, “is that we will triumph, no matter the odds. Lich Kings, maniacal dragons, and even a mad titan… in the end, we’ve won.”

Anduin chewed on his lips. He didn’t like the taste of his next words, feeling the nausea build up yet again. These words tasted like vomit on his tongue, much like the meagre breakfast he could barely shove down his throat that morning.

“But at what cost?”

He rose from his seat, placing his hands on the table firmly.

“No matter the cost,” said Genn looking up at him, and though Anduin knew the king of Gilneas was right, he hated the fact with all his might.

“Yes,” Anduin sighed then. “I… apologize, but I—I don’t feel so good. I’d like to take some time to… ponder over the recent events.” No rest for the King of Stormwind.

“Of course,” Velen replied, cutting in before Genn could say anything at all. Such was their dynamic in Anduin’s life.

With the meeting adjourned on mutual agreement, Anduin was out of the door last. He waited for the others to leave before he exited the room, as court ethics demanded him, but as soon as he was alone with stretched-thin guards lining the hallway, he let his legs burst with impatience. Yet the moment he took the first corner, he felt Jaina’s magic prickle on his skin before he heard the tell-tale pop of her blue blink. He quickly plastered a perfectly tired smile on his face. Every hour the information became less relevant.

“Hey,” said Jaina with a soft expression, voice laced with something Anduin could not focus on, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a heavy gesture. “I… I know I haven’t been around… when you most needed me to…”

“Jaina…” said Anduin quickly, quietly. It was difficult to think that even though Jaina had returned for quite some time now, they never really had the chance to just… talk. Really talk, for hours on end, with nothing to disturb them. There was an abyss between them that Anduin desperately wanted gone. “It’s…”

“Don’t say it’s alright,” she smiled with sorrow-touched expression. Anduin mirrored her smile, though less genuinely, and watched with keen eyes as she swiftly reached into one of the purses lining her waist. He raised an eyebrow when the woman pushed a small canvas pouch tied with simple drawstring into his palm.

“I know you struggle with sleep.”

“I—” Anduin began, but Jaina squeezed his fingers over the present.

“I do, too. And it’s not a show of weakness—”

“Sylvanas would beg to differ,” Anduin scoffed with a humourless chuckle, slipping off his tongue before he could think of the consequences of his words—a lethal mistake for a diplomat. Upon the mention of the Banshee Queen’s name, Jaina’s eyes hardened, and for a moment, Anduin’s heart plummeted with worry and regret. Sylvanas had done them both dirty since she had become Warchief.

“It’s peacebloom and dreaming glory,” Jaina replied instead, changing the topic away from such heavy wounds. “My own recipe. Try it for me?”

Anduin sighed. Restful sleep had eluded him for quite some time, but he’d never considered turning to herbs and potions for help. For some reason, it had never occurred to him that he should care for his own body instead of the kingdom’s issues. Was this the fate of a king, or was it just his luck? In any case, Anduin trusted Jaina, and the least he could do was accept the herbs, suddenly feeling the claws of exhaustion grab onto him. He shook them off.

“Thank you. I—thank you.”

Jaina smiled at him, and this smile made him content with his decision to accept the herbs.

“I will make sure we have some time to talk,” Jaina promised with another smile, and opened her arms to welcome Anduin in a much-needed embrace. She placed a soft kiss on his forehead, stepped away, and as her eyes began to glow arcane-blue, her face seemed to glow as well, with a weight off her heart.

By the time Anduin made it to the next hallway, his mind was focused on the sole task of having his super-secret mission finally kick off.

Anduin slowly made his way through the Keep, holding onto an aura of unattainability, yet with his eyes he frantically searched for someone who would fit his needs. As the steps towards his supposed destination were continuously diminishing at a far too fast pace for his liking, Anduin was ready to lower his standards to just about anyone with a colourful enough gear on them to prove they would be capable of smuggling him across the world. He knew it would be enough, from experience.

Just as he was ready to give up hope and hatch a new plan – which would no doubt include more convincing, and time wasted –, his eyes caught the shape of a woman clad in dark, crisp plates with a wicked blade resting on her back.

Perfect.

She was talking with one of the guards by the entrance of the library. Across the inner garden, Anduin could not make out the exchanged words between them, but he felt it in his guts as a chilly breeze swept through the reddening autumn leaves that he should step in.

As he rounded the yard along the columns of the cloister, something peculiar a thought struck him: he could not hear her voice, only the guard’s responses.

“I’m sorry, but this document does not substitute for the proper permission needed to enter the Royal Archives,” said the guard in a monotone voice as though behind the pristine, shining Stormwind helmet was a mechanized gnomish contraption ordered to repeat the same line over and over again.

The woman pushed a paper into the guard’s face without saying a word.

“As I already told you…” began the guard with an exasperated sigh.

“Get the hell out of here, freak,” spat the other guard with hate so clear in his voice that even Anduin winced. “Or you want us to throw your rotting ass into the Stockades for forging an archmage’s signature?”

“Come on, dude,” said the calmer guard.

“Leave the Keep while we ask nicely,” continued the other.

Once again, the woman said nothing but shook the paper in front of the guards vehemently.

“What?” taunted the previous guard with a cruel laugh. “Lich King took your tongue?”

As soon as he noticed the woman begin to turn around, Anduin slipped behind a corner into the hallway that led to the still closed off Hall of Memories, with a hundred thoughts running amok in his mind. It must have been during lunch break as the way was open, yet the hall was choke full of equipment for the renovation without any of the labourers in sight. He focused on the woman.

It was clear as day, she was a death knight. Must have been one of the handful who acted as liaisons between the Alliance and the Ebon Blade. Theirs was a special case, and Anduin had never really paid much thought to it before. Never really interacted with them before as there was no need. The Knights of the Ebon Blade always did their own thing, as did Anduin mind his own business, because he trusted the people in charge to inform him if anything out of order happened that would require immediate reaction from the Alliance.

And yet, despite all this and its million different indications, all Anduin could think of was how to contact the woman without anyone’s notice. To the Light he hoped she would be resourceful enough to help him.

She definitely did have a file in the SI:7 headquarters.

“Champion,” Anduin whispered as soon as he felt the touch of chill on his naked skin. The hairs on the back of his neck rose with gooseflesh. Just as the woman stepped into view, Anduin slipped past another corner, inside the deserted hall proper. For a moment, his heart was racing inside his throat – this was his only chance – but then he heard plate boots clinking and thudding heavily against the marble of the ground, signalling the woman’s approach.

He hadn’t had much contact with death knights in the past. It had always been his father and Tirion Fordring dealing with them on behalf of the Alliance—both men were gone now, and Anduin wondered how they’d gone so long without meeting their official leader as he’d done with the Illidari. Since the Legion’s invasion, Anduin hadn’t had to really dedicate any of his spare time to them. The Ebon Blade and the Deathlord, who had since then become neutral to both factions were powerful allies against the demons, but… the only time Anduin really thought about them was a mourning moment when the shadows choked him dry of tears, and made him wish there was a body left of Varian for the Deathlord to resurrect, to the fel with the consequences.

But this dark thought he would never reveal to anyone, much less to a nameless death knight who he’d never met before.

The death knight, who was now staring at him with her empty, glowing eyes as cold as the freezing gales of Northrend. Anduin wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel uneasy.

“Champion,” Anduin began, schooling his features. He was king, the High King of the Alliance, and proper court behaviour had been carved into his muscles. “I’d like to ask for your help in a personal issue,” he said, figuring it would be better to just get to the point. Time was of the essence after all.

The silent ebon blade’s only reply was an unsettling look and an arch of one of her sparse eyebrows.

“I’ve a proposal for you, death knight.” The woman narrowed her eyes. A small part of Anduin was relieved that she hadn’t suddenly started bowing to him. He tried to speak as quietly as it still would not raise red flags to his potential escort. “I need you to take me to Gadgetzan. As quickly and discreetly as possible. In exchange—”

He carefully plucked the crumpled piece of paper, held in the woman’s hand to take a quick glance at the document—for whatever reason did Archmage Karlain of the Council of the Six send a death knight to the Stormwind Royal Archives, he did not have the capacity to care for it, but it was more than a perfect subject of barter.

“I will get you all the time you need in the Archives, no questions asked.”

The death knight narrowed her eerie eyes even more, and Anduin felt as though she was trying to stare right into his soul to see something that even he did not see within himself. Were her class capable of such immeasurable feat? To read one’s soul, perhaps hear their thoughts through the flesh’s reaction?

After what felt like an hour, the woman finally responded—

With a simple nod.

“Magnificent,” said Anduin with a small, relieved smile, and shifted his weight from one leg to another unconsciously. Before the woman could change her mind, he continued, “I will meet you behind the stables in ten minutes—if that is alright with you. We mustn’t tarry for long.”

Only after raising her eyebrow high did Anduin realize the sound of his chosen words, to which he blushed slightly. Any apology in his throat died on his tongue however as the woman turned on her heels and marched off without any other reply offered.

Ten minutes were both an ocean of time, and such short period not enough for the most basic of preparations to be properly done within. And yet, somehow Anduin made quick work of his allotted time, hands and feet moving with previous experience. Banal as it was, like some kind of fairy tale, to escape the Stormwind Keep, all he needed to do was climb over the banister of his balcony onto a ledge which he could now easily reach with his feet. Were he a few years younger and inches shorter, escape would have been made impossible. This is how Valeera always did, and though Anduin could never hope to be as nimble as his rogue friend, he scaled the walls without slipping even once.

Before he left, though, he made sure to tell the royal guards stationed outside his suite not to let anyone disturb him until the morning, and penned a quick note, for Genn – surely the first person to notice and investigate his absence – to find in time. By then, Anduin would be well on his way to Tanaris, and home was just a hearthstone away that he kept for emergencies. Well, this was an emergency, was it not? He had to get to Tanaris as soon as possible, or else—he didn’t want to think about the other outcome. This nameless death knight was his best option, even though part of him felt… strange, at the knowledge. He had never been this close to one before, and especially not on such a secret mission that could’ve put the entire Alliance and all the sacrifices that had been made into jeopardy if something happened to him.

Yet all Anduin could think of was getting to Gadgetzan and seeing it for himself. He did not want to send any champions, or have Spymaster Shaw send his agents and report to him of what they’d seen. No. Anduin _had_ to see it with his very own eyes.

No matter the cost, as Genn would say.

Perhaps, the drunken ramblings of a Gadgetzan engineer were not quite on par with the needs of the entire Alliance, but it was no mere coincidence that Anduin received the information the same day, for that night, a jihui piece had been left in the middle of his desk by a shadow.

Someone surely wanted Anduin to be in Tanaris, someone who knew of his time in Pandaria – tremendous amount of people – and how he played jihui in that time – not many people. The royal guards, Elrich and Erik who had kept a close eye on Anduin as he’d recovered, were no longer with them, may the Light guide their souls. Apart from them, quite a lot of adventurers passed through the tavern, but only a few of them were ever allowed upstairs on official business, and Anduin hadn’t heard about them for so very long except for one of them – if his memory served right – who had managed to become the Huntmaster of the Unseen Path during the Legion’s third invasion. What had become of her since then, Anduin did not know.

No, Anduin was sure it was someone else. The jihui piece he found on his desk represented a kite—a clear message of their knowledge of the time Anduin had spent in Pandaria. An agile troop within the board game, Anduin knew what it was meant to convey—to be quick.

It couldn’t be anyone but a certain black dragon.

_Wrathion_.

Whenever Anduin thought about—him, emotions filled his chest. A long time ago, it used to be anger and disappointment, but in recent years, he’d barely paid any thought to the black dragon. Today, however, Wrathion was all he could think of, and each time his heart would skip a beat. In anticipation and in confusion, mainly, for Anduin had already let go of the past. What happened had happened, and as much as some individuals were capable of such feat, Anduin could not turn back time, because he knew himself enough to know that he would not do anything differently however much he wished he would.

Oh, how many times he’d imagined their reunion! He’d thought in detail of the speech he would give Wrathion, but as time had passed, so did the words become obsolete until it was all but a dream. He had given up on ever meeting Wrathion again, and Anduin was fine with that. Wrathion had been but just one of the many teachers Pandaria had sent his way, one of the most important in fact.

And yet, the carefully entombed memories rose to the surface as though the jihui piece was a catalyst to undo a magical restraint that buried those images in a deep recess of his mind. He’d thought that maybe five years would be enough to forget about them until they became but the images of a fever dream he would not remember in the morning, yet with a single thought of meeting him Anduin hopped on the first chance.

He told himself that it was for the sake of closure. Nothing could Wrathion give that Anduin needed. The days of Pandaria were gone, and so were Anduin’s childish wishes and his teenaged lust. His bones ached with memories, a phantom pain, masking the one that plagued his heart. Anyone with a bit of a heart deserved and required closure, and if not for Wrathion, then this small a selfishness Anduin wanted for himself in exchange of all the years he had stood in the service of his people.

The possibility of missing the chance of meeting Wrathion again did not go past by him, yet Anduin was too preoccupied to even give it a second thought. He was _going_ to Tanaris, follow Wrathion’s tracks, and finally confront the black dragon. There was no other outcome of his adventure.

Normally, the King of Stormwind would not bother himself knowing the patrol shifts, because that’s what captains were for, but Anduin had had visited the barracks just the same day under the guise of a small meeting with Captain Lancy Revshon – as General Hammond Clay was still overseeing Stromgarde’s defences – about the current state of patrols and the distribution of freshly recruited guards. It gave Anduin the perfect opportunity to memorise that day’s shifts—had he encountered the death knight an hour earlier or later, they would not be able to meet by the stables. Though each possible rendezvous location presented its own unique challenges, Anduin supposed, there could have been worse places to set off from than the stables. Despite wearing disguise, Anduin did not want to risk getting caught in the middle of the street as he attempted to walk out of Stormwind.

While waiting behind the stables, and as he was trying to come up with multiple possible routes out the city, Anduin noticed too late a movement in the corner of his eye, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as a heavy canvas bag thudded on the ground before his feet. He jerked his head up with a quiet gasp he could not muffle properly only to be greeted with his hands full of—something. He glanced down immediately, and a cracked pair of goggles glared back at him, with leather straps on each side and metal clasps on the end for tightening. It sat on a crumpled, yet finely-threaded kerchief.

Anduin lifted both objects in a wordless, yet loud inquiry for the death knight who seemed to have had exchanged some of her flashier gear for something more appropriate for the hot deserts of Tanaris. A similar kerchief was tied around her neck, with goggles resting on the top of her head, and Anduin could see the rise of a hood hiding behind the sickly cascade of her pale hair.

For a moment, the silence between them seemed to dissipate, but then the canvas bag _spoke up_.

“Are we there yet?” came a muffled voice, with the high undertones of none other than a gnome.

“By the Light!” Anduin gasped again, and fell to his knees to free the poor gnome from his canvas prison. First was a bright blue moustache that sprang free, then a large hand grasped Anduin’s blindly. It was a matter of seconds that Anduin came face to face with whoever his new companion had decided to kidnap for reasons yet unknown.

“Ah, much better!” said the gnome as he swept dirt off his knees. At the very least, the King of Stormwind had the mind to pull his hood low, before the gnome’s large eyes settled on him, and narrowed to slits. “Who in the Nether are you?”

“I—” began Anduin on instinct, his diplomacy skills kicking in with the urge to spring into a tale without revealing his identity, but the gnome whirled around and pointed an accusatory finger in the death knight’s direction.

“Miss, what’s going on? I thought we were going to the Pools for—Light take me, I even agreed to be carried in your bag—!”

But whatever else the gnome had to say died on his tongue that lolled out of his mouth when the death knight whacked him in the head with the hilt of her sword. The gnome sprawled out on the ground rather comically, and a sense of dread settled in Anduin, that maybe this was a mistake when he noticed a thin trickle of red on the gnome’s forehead.

How could he trust a death knight?

Yet when he crouched down to make sure the gnome was alright physically, his hands froze in the air with the glow of the Light ebbing away as he watched, in utter surprise, the woman place a white gauze on the gnome’s wound before she began to search his pockets.

“This was _not_ necessary,” Anduin reprimanded, furrowing his brows, and a sliver of anger rose in his chest as he was ignored. As soon as it arrived, the anger flashed away with a deep sigh that Anduin let out. “I apologise… I didn’t even ask your name, yet.”

The woman looked up at him, and after a pregnant moment, she huffed loudly through her nose. As they leaned over the gnome’s unconscious body, Anduin felt her cold breath send chills down his spine, yet the humanity of her reaction warmed his chest. He took that second to remind himself not to judge the book by its cover, though death knights were notorious for a reason.

She did not answer, instead, she pulled out a small device from one of the gnome’s big pockets and jumped to her feet with more agility than what her armour would’ve allowed a normal human to perform. Anduin followed her to his feet, sending a worried glance towards the gnome. Genn would not care of the cost, but Anduin did—no matter how bad he wanted to get to Tanaris as soon as possible, hurting and then stealing from a person, he found it reprehensible.

A small voice in his head, one that made his mended bones ache, whispered that it was exactly why he had settled for a death knight. No matter what other reason Anduin would try to save his case with, that voice was adamant—until it disappeared back into its obscurity with a blink of an eye. Anduin did not dwell on its words.

“Champion,” Anduin spoke up, watching with eager eyes as the death knight pressed and pulled and turned knobs and levers on the small device of gnomish engineering. “Your silence about this—_mission _is much appreciated, but communication is necessary—”

The death knight pulled him close by his shoulder, until their bodies were flush against each other, and so close they were that Anduin could not stare anywhere, but the woman’s unsettling, icy blue eyes—they seemed to radiate the chills of Northrend, though Anduin knew not how it would be possible. He recovered quickly as soon as those eyes were hidden behind semi-darkened goggles. The death knight covered her mouth with the scarf around her neck, and Anduin knew to follow suit before a gauntleted hand rose up between them, with the device gripped in its icy claws.

Behind the glass, Anduin saw the death knight squeeze her eyes shut.


	2. Quest: Instructions (Un)clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin and his taciturn escort find Gadgetzan completely empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for graphic descriptions and violence, and Arthas being a death knight asshole. oh and if you played warcraft 3 reign of chaos you'll find some stuff familiar in here.

Teleporting with an engineered device was much worse than just walking through a mage-maintained portal. The latter, Anduin had gotten used to a long time ago, but he couldn’t say the same about gnomish teleporters. The Ultrasafe Teleporter – as Anduin would later learn the name of – to Gadgetzan was not quite as safe as it said on the package – if it had one – for Anduin found himself neither within the walls of the city, nor quite able to walk as he found himself lying on a bed of sand. In his ears, wind howled, and his exposed skin began to hurt with the tiniest of pinpricks of sand. So was explained the reason for the goggles and kerchief. The sand was clear indication of Tanaris, or so Anduin hoped, but that balloon of hope burst as soon as he realized—he was alone. His death knight escort was nowhere to be seen, though Anduin’s vision was severely limited in the raging sandstorm the device had popped him right into.

The wind dissipated his voice as he called for the champion, filling his nose and mouth with sand despite covering his face the best he could.

Just when doubt had begun to seep into the mended cracks of his bones, the thought of this being an elaborate ploy by Sylvanas to get him out of Stormwind despite the jihui piece a clear message – or so Anduin would like to believe – suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. The Power Word slipped off his tongue with ease, the Light shield humming softly as the assailant was pushed back a couple of steps—turning into a barely visible dark spot. Glowing blue eyes stared at him.

“I’m so sorry!” Anduin gasped behind his mask, immediately retracting his concentration, and reached for the death knight’s hand that had suffered the brunt of his instinctual self-defence, but the death knight grabbed his wrist with a grip that could have broken his bones had she not loosened it just as quickly. Behind glasses and kerchief, Anduin could not make out the expression on her face, robbing him of the only reply he would receive. Was he ever going to get used to his companion’s silence?

The death knight grabbed his belt forcefully, not a hint of fear in her movements should she catch Anduin off-guard again, and a rope was tied around it securely. This, Anduin did not require verbal instructions, as soon as the death knight turned around, he grabbed the rope and fell into a heavy march after his escort.

The howling wind was so loud that it overwhelmed every thought—all Anduin could think of was to keep up the pace and try not to trip for he was not sure if the death knight would stop and wait for him to get up.

Their trek across the sandstorm to Gadgetzan was a perilous one and it felt like Anduin was walking for a small eternity, until at last, they stepped through a gate in the wall that did not much to keep out the storm. The goblin town was deserted, all homesteads stood with closed doors. What appeared to be a gryphon roost was abandoned and turned over. Sand dunes piled up high by the walls and the houses—who knows how long the storm had been going on. Half of Gadgetzan seemed to be buried already.

Here, the wind seemed to be even stronger, and not only did Anduin fail at uttering even a word, he could barely breathe as the screeching gale sucked the breath out of his lungs to add to its own arsenal. The death knight jerked at the rope, but even she seemed to have troubles.

They passed a humongous, circular tent, its canvas walls flapping in the wind without purchase, revealing a rusted skeleton of iron. Inside Anduin spied abandoned equipment as though people had sought refuge from the storm only to leave when the tent could no longer stand against the might of the storm. Not even the nearby crane – similar to those the dwarves and gnomes would pull up for various constructions in the city – could tide over this apocalyptic weather as it lay toppled over the wall. Anduin couldn’t see the end of it. Parts of stalls and whatnot lay in disarray all over the place.

Something seemed off about the storm as though it had descended on Gadgetzan without a warning. Why had Anduin not been alerted of such a strange event? Perhaps—well, even the SI:7 was stretched thin now. Many agents were not fit for the work the Alliance required of them even though Anduin knew Spymaster Shaw selected only the finest, most promising people to work under him.

For a moment it felt as though the wind would tear out the door from its hinges as the death knight opened it, but in the end, both Anduin and the woman managed to file in among a flurry of sand, and slam the door shut.

Even the inn was empty.

What happened here?

The engineer Valeera had gotten her information from had been in drinking himself into stupor in one of Booty Bay’s many shady taverns, but from what she had gathered, the storm was a recent addition to Gadgetzan. He’d been working in his newly relocated garage after getting sick of the snow in Winterspring, when some shady person approached him with a strange blueprint of a device the engineer had no idea the purpose of. Accepting the challenge it posed, he had received parts and materials he had immediately recognized the Titanic origins of, he dove into his newest project, having been always obsessed with Titanic technology. He had finished the device before the deadline, left it in a box in his garage and left Gadgetzan without even waiting for the second part of his payment—he knew he had made a mistake, and wanted to get away from them as soon as he could. By the time he had reached Ratchet with the intention of sailing to Booty Bay, he heard some talk of Gadgetzan going silent.

Anduin wondered how exactly Valeera had gotten such a coherent story out of a drunk person, but he wasn’t going to look the gift horse in the mouth. Someone sending agents to meddle with Titanic devices could have been anyone, for all Anduin knew, but he’d been there in the Tavern in the Mists when Wrathion enlisted the help of adventurers to create a handful of objects Anduin suspected the dragon actually had barely any idea the full potential of. Wrathion liked to dabble in Titanic facilities, not to mention, now that Anduin thought about it, he had consumed the heart of The Thunder King himself, who had before consumed the powers of a titanic keeper—or something along the lines. It was kind of hazy now.

If not for the recent news from Nazjatar, and the mysterious jihui piece, Anduin would have dismissed the rumours. Expect, Valeera had been certain that the person who visited the goblin engineer was a Blacktalon Agent, and Valeera knew that Anduin never really gave upon hope to ever see Wrathion, even though Anduin himself had been convinced otherwise.

“Where is everyone?” Anduin wondered out loud. He’d expected to see goblins go about their lives in Gadgetzan, not an abandoned ghost-town without a single clue as to where the residents had disappeared to.

“Finally!” came a shrill voice from a dark corner of the inn. The sandstorm had descended twilight upon the town despite Kalimdor being a few hours behind Stormwind’s afternoon. It was hard to see the source of the high voice, but the duo did not have to wait long in dreaded anticipation to see: was it friend or foe?

A blonde gnome came to view as she snapped a finger, and the torches around the walls of the inn sparked to life, their flames barely flickering in the small breeze that managed to whistle into the building through boarded up windows.

Chronormu greeted them.

With the Caverns of Time lying close to Gadgetzan, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to see a bronze dragon there, but—the conditions were more than strange.

Anduin hadn’t met the bronze dragon since Garrosh’s trial in Pandaria many years ago. To see her in the deserted Gadgetzan inn – Lady Death Knight scoffed at his unintended pun that he mumbled absentmindedly – was one of the biggest surprises he had the joy of experiencing lately.

“Chromie?” Anduin asked uncertainly yet in clear disbelief, trying to make sure he remembered the blonde gnome from the trial properly. Truth to be told, it was hard to ever forget those days, and Chromie hadn’t changed anything at all, not even her clothes.

The bronze dragon-gnome turned her entire body towards them proper with a big smile on her face. “King Anduin!” she chirped and hopped off her stool by the empty bar. It was no mere coincidence that she was here.

“You’re absolutely right!” Chromie replied to a future question that would now not come to be. “I’ve been waiting for you to come,” she glanced at a small device strapped around her wrist, and tapped it with a long nail. “You’re a bit off-schedule, though, not to worry—we will be done in no time!”

From various accounts by adventurers and champions who had dealings with Chromie, Anduin knew the bronze dragon was generally a chirpy, happy-go-lucky personality, though his own interaction throughout Garrosh’s trial let him see a more serious side of her. This one suited her more. If only her presence didn’t unsettle Anduin right now.

“Is this about Wrathion?” Anduin inquired softly. Something dark flashed across Chromie’s bright face, a quick movement of her eyebrows before it disappeared. Even in Anduin’s mind, the events that took place within the Temple of the White Tiger came to life anew as though they occurred just a day ago. He couldn’t imagine how recent they would feel to someone for whom time flowed differently.

“Yes and no,” Chromie answered with a finger pointed in the air. “I am here to offer you aid in your quest.”

Lady Death Knight next to Anduin growled low in her throat. Chromie didn’t bother rise to the threat—she was a bronze dragon, and she could take on a single death knight any time. Everyone in the room knew this, yet Anduin’s escort stepped ahead of him in clear stance of defending him.

“Stand down,” Chromie waved her hand. “I am to show your king something important before you continue.”

Anduin did not ask questions. If a bronze dragon had something to show him, then all of his questions would be answered soon. He nodded, lifting a hand for his escort. The death knight stared at Chromie for a second, then slid her fingers off the hilt of her sword, and stepped back. She plopped her backpack on a nearby bench with a loud thud.

“Show me,” Anduin said with certainty in his heart. He would take whatever help in his quest.

“Close your eyes, your Majesty,” Chromie smiled, and Anduin obeyed.

When Anduin opened his eyes, he found himself on a rickety balcony. Red leaves fell from trees in the weakening summer afternoon sun, and the breeze in the stifling heat brought the stench of death and decay made tenfold worse. In the far distance, the sky was covered by black smoke and sickly glowing pillars emanating from wicked towers and obelisks just beyond the tree line. Behind the haze, Anduin could spy the looming silhouette of a necropolis floating menacingly, spewing its corruption below.

“Andorhal,” sighed Chromie. “One of its saddest moments.”

Anduin turned towards the gnome who was standing on the cracked wooden banister, balancing perfectly as though she was a rope-dancer. “When are we?”

“During the Third War,” Chromie answered. Anduin’s breath hitched. He’d heard and read about it in extreme detail, but to be actually there to experience it—it was as overwhelming as was the foul smell of rot that invaded his nostrils endlessly.

“Are… are we actually in the past?” Anduin asked, hoping to the Light that he had just not agreed to be transported back to one of Azeroth’s darkest war. One of his champions had gone to great lengths to save Chronormu from an untimely demise.

“No, not quite,” Chromie shook her head. “Though I’ve been able to chronoport physically lately, I require a large convergence of ley-energies for that. Gadgetzan is hardly the place—no, no, this is but a vision, and we are its sole audience. And… Anduin? I’m terribly sorry for what you’re about to see. Really.”

Before Anduin could continue with his questions to further understand the situation, a distant yell caught his attention. The previously empty street below them was beginning to fill with citizens running in torn and dirty clothes; survivors of the plague that swept through Lordaeron. Screams of panic and terror pierced Anduin’s heart like sharp arrows that he could not do anything to evade. He gripped the banister until his knuckles began to turn white. His legs burned with the urge to help those poor people. He watched with dread rising in his throat as the refugees were running from an unseen enemy towards a barricaded part of the town.

“Brace yourselves, Champions of Life!” yelled a strong voice, and for a moment, the clouds above them parted before a beam of sunlight as though the heavens opened for the paladin who spoke. “Today is the day that we finally fulfill our oaths! Do not despair for the Light graces us!”

A cacophony of terrified cheers rose within the dying screams of the survivors. Anduin saw exhausted soldiers in bloody, missing and mismatched armor awaiting their certain death behind the crudely piled barricade. Knights sat atop their unsettled and neighing warhorses, and riflemen loaded their blunderbusses for one last time. Behind the front lines, by the fountain was a duo of dwarves with a heavy cannon and a big box of some sorts.

It was the silence before a storm. A bloody storm.

The screams stopped. The wind howled.

Anduin swallowed.

The first snarl brought chills to Anduin’s spine, and beneath his sand-filled clothes, his skin erupted with painful gooseflesh.

“Help!” a woman cried in terror, freezing Anduin’s blood. He glanced to the other side—a ragged woman appeared from behind a corner with a screeching baby cradled in her arms. Her hair was caked with blood, and her simple peasant clothes were torn, exposing her breast as she ran for her life. A ghoul clambered after her on all fours with a missing jaw.

Anduin watched unblinking as the woman tripped in her skirt and fell to the ground, crushing the babe beneath her own body. Her only relief was that before the realization could dawn on her that her child was no longer screaming, the ghoul descended upon her back and tore into her flesh without remorse. She fell dead silently.

He’d read the accounts. Heard the tales. He had details—the horror, the feelings of other people who survived the scourge. But nothing—nothing could compare to this. To see it with own eyes. He wanted to throw up, and nearly did so until he saw other people still running towards the safety of the soldiers with ghouls and risen skeletons hot in their heels. Their screams were—humans reduced to one single instinct of survival, no reason able to penetrate their raw fear.

Chaos arrived on a wagon of decay. The door below Anduin slammed shut, and all he had time for was turn around to watch an old man, with his arm torn off, make his way up the stairs with heavy thuds and ragged breaths. He made his way to the balcony that which Anduin and Chromie was currently occupying, only seeing a way to escape the death that chased him relentlessly. The door was broken off its hinges with an earsplitting crash, and ghouls screeched and snarled, following the scent of warm blood.

Anduin nearly fell off the balcony as a ghoul jumped on the exhausted old man, passing through Anduin and the banister, and crashed into the ground now infested with a writhing mass on undeath.

An explosion shook the building, forcing Anduin to his knees, grasping desperately at the bloody planks of the balcony as he looked between two intact columns of the banister. The human defenders had rigged two of the closest houses with explosives to detonate them when the first wave of scourge reached the barricade. It was hardly enough to slow the army of dead down. Guns cracked, swords clashed—humans shouted bloody murder and screamed in agony. A child wailed somewhere like a pig being taken away.

It was a slaughter, soldier and civil alike fell to the claws of ghouls, shambling corpses and arachnid fiends, to the arrows and rusted swords of skeletons. Above the sounds of massacre, Anduin heard slick and squelching clicks only to see a monstrous contraption of spiked wheels and fangs roll into position. It cracked and groaned and screeched, and then let loose a flying ball of blood and dismembered humans raining gore down on the already terrified human defenders.

“Enough,” Anduin whispered, nearly pleading. “I’ve seen enough. Stop it, please.” He squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, praying to the Light not to close out the sounds his ears could still hear, but to grant a moment of peace for those below on the battlefield who fell, despite knowing that what he was seeing was but a vision. This had happened already. Nothing he did could make a difference.

He had no idea how seeing such a slaughter would help him find Wrathion, but right now, the black dragon was the least of his concerns. All he knew that a massacre like this would repeat again and again in every city and town should the Alliance lose.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Chromie apologized quietly, and suddenly, everything went silent after a loud snap of fingers. When Anduin opened his eyes, his heart sank—he was still not back in Gadgetzan as he so desperately wished for, but in the middle of the small square with the fountain now spewing blood of the butchered people. Barely a few soldiers and knights were alive; all of the civilians were dead, ghouls feasting on their weeping flesh.

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, Chromie grasped Anduin’s hand tightly, and together they watched as the mass of undeath parted for a mysterious rider. His silver hair billowed in the wind of decay, and a chill penetrated even Anduin’s spine that reminded him of the cold aura of his death knight escort albeit a lot less intrusive and painful.

“Arthas!” the leader of the defense, a heavily armored paladin bellowed with rage. By this time, Anduin felt numb from what he’d seen—otherwise he would have gaped at the sight.

On top of a skeletal horse sat Arthas Menethil, his skin ashen grey and cheeks sunken, eyes the deepest black. Despite his body, Anduin could not see any semblance of a human being in the death knight. This was… this was a monster, through and through. No tale of the former prince could make Anduin think otherwise.

Anduin reeled at the thought that some had likened him to the prince whom Arthas had once been. He would never—never—

Chromie squeezed Anduin’s hand even tighter, and the contact was all that kept him together. Never in his life had he imagined that he would go through this. All of his nightmares dwarfed all of a sudden.

“Sir Buzan!” a woman shouted, kneeling by a body on the ground. Her hands glowed with faint light, but even from afar Anduin saw that the chest on which she pressed her palms against no longer rose and fell with breaths. The last priest standing. “Fall back!”

“Yes,” Arthas drawled. “Fall back to despair. Await your death in terror as you writhe in your own piss.”

“You will not take another step, you monster!” The paladin, presumably Sir Buzan, charged at the death knight, his massive hammer in a destructive swing aimed for Arthas. All power had left Anduin’s legs, and his bones ached skittering in the back of his mind. All he could do was watch the battle, feeling dread knot in his stomach—he knew the paladin would fall, for Arthas would trample across Andorhal to claim his father’s divine urn for his nefarious deeds. Yet still Anduin felt it in his own guts as the damned blade in Arthas’ hand struck at the kneeling old paladin, bested so quickly and easily—

Only to be stopped by a bubble of flickering light.

“Wretch!” Arthas growled like an earthquake, glaring at the woman priest who stood with an arm stretched towards Sir Buzan. Her white robe was shredded and painted scarlet by the blood of the fallen she had tried to save. Her shoulders rose and fall with heavy breaths as she mustered enough strength to protect the old paladin for just long enough.

Before Anduin could realize who the priest was, a rusted spear impaled her stomach from behind. She spat blood, and the protective bubble around the tired paladin choked out of existence as she jerked her hand to her abdomen, clutching at the blade blindly. Completely exhausted, Sir Buzan could barely lift his hammer as he parried one last strike from Arthas before the death knight cut the paladin down, clean through his neck. Heavy clouds gathered over head.

“She’s—” Anduin gasped as he focused on the dying priest clutching at life desperately.

“In life, she was called Willow Griffiths,” Chromie said quietly. With each step Arthas took, the ground shuddered. “Her devotion to the Light saved her many times—until this day.”

Anduin pushed himself up from the fountain. His legs strode with newfound strength towards Willow, kneeling in a river of blood and torn guts. The scourge around ran rampant, but their sounds were left for the wind to carry away. The priest swayed on her knees, wheezing loudly. Her scarlet fingers slid clumsily on the rusty spear.

Arthas stopped before her and flicked a finger. The skeleton warrior who had impaled Willow raised the spear, and along with the weapon, the priest too. She let out a weak scream that she choked on as the fallen prince wrapped his fingers around her thin neck.

“No more Power Words to protect you, bitch,” Arthas snarled, wrenched open her mouth with his filthy fingers, and tore out her tongue.

Her blood-churning screams which paralleled that of a banshee’s wail echoed inside Anduin’s mind even as Chromie began to cast her chronoport spell. The vision stopped and blurred immediately. The shadows began to grow and soon enough, Anduin saw nothing but darkness.

He woke to the sound of howling wind. His mouth was dry and tasted of sand. He groaned loudly, head pounding as though he had laid underneath a thousand hammers. Images of the massacre still gripping him, all Anduin could do was clamber to his feet from whatever position he was in and grab onto the first thing solid enough to hold his weight as he emptied his stomach onto the floor. It was the worst feeling ever as his stomach and throat convulsed against his attempts, the acid burning through his entire squirming body. It felt like an eternity to be hunched over, until at last, it stopped. Anduin spat out acidic saliva and pressed his lips together.

It had been some time since he felt so nauseous over something. He’d thought he had managed to grow some iron stomach after his recent battles, but it seemed, all it took him was a bronze dragon to show some nasty moments of the past. For a moment, Anduin felt eleven years old again, in a room full of yelling adults, and Katrana Prestor’s eyes boring into him to say whatever she had told him to say.

This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

But Anduin had come this far, and he would see his task to the end. He was going to find Wrathion and confront him once and for all, no matter what it would take.

A priest devoted to the Light defied Arthas Menethil who had laid waste to much of Lordaeron and killed countless innocents. To spite whoever dared oppose him, Arthas defiled her and left her body to rot in the sun, to be torn to shreds by the lowest of his ranks. However her cold body survived did not matter – perhaps the Light had not abandoned her so soon – but the irony that later she would be raised as a mindless death knight in service of the one who killed her did not escape Anduin until he finally realized.

“Willow.”

His silent escort glanced at him with cold eyes boring into him. A flash of human surprise was clear on her expressionless face.

“Willow Griffiths, you were called,” Anduin said quietly, still heaving a bit. Chronormu was nowhere to be seen. They were completely alone.

Knowing the past of his silent companion was going to change nothing, yet it changed everything.

It made sense how Willow was one of the death knights who had managed to break free of the Lich King’s will, and still stick to the Alliance and its values. Though most of the Knights of the Ebon Blade were disciplined and worked alongside the living, many of their actions went against all the Alliance stood for, while others went completely rogue thinking they were free to do anything they wished without any remorse. Whatever Willow had been made to do after being risen as a death knight—Anduin felt it in his bones that it was no mere coincidence that she was there in the Keep that day.

He could trust her.

Anduin reached for her hand carefully, the one she had grabbed him with after he woke in the desert. He pulled off her glove gingerly.

“The Light did not leave you in Andorhal.”

Her skin was unburned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are gonna speed up (hopefully lol). if this feels to be a filler chapter, its because it is, but i had to establish my oc. don't worry, the fic won't revolve around her. you'll get your wranduin in due time.
> 
> anyhow, find me @gyunikum on twitter if u wanna chat about wow and stuff


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